


Ice

by inkandchocolate



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:47:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandchocolate/pseuds/inkandchocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel sees something that causes a flashback.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: OK, a scene that lasted less than 2 minutes just screamed at me. If you saw it, you know what I mean. Couldn't help myself. Hope you enjoy.

Hyperion Hotel, 1952

The darkness of the hallway matches his mood. So when the door to 220 opens and the men step out, he has to turn and stare. Clutching the ice bucket in his hand, he sees the tableau before him: tall dark man reaching out to brush the hair back from the collar of the blonde before him. The blonde is smaller in stature and smiles eagerly. The aura of their intimacy is almost a physical thing, shimmering with their pleasure in the moment.

Angel's hand tightens on the doorknob as he continues to stare. His gaze lingers so intently that the men feel it, pick up the waves of his anger, his resentment, and they stutter apart guiltily. They look disconcerted, awkward, and shake hands like strangers to cover the moment. By the time the blonde leaves, Angel has entered his own apartment and slammed the door behind him.

He stands with his back to the door, head bent as a memory washes over him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

He was that tall dark man reaching out to a young Childe, smoothing long tendrils of curling light hair away from a high forehead. Letting the boy smile up at him as he basks in the wonder of his Sire's approval. Moments before he would let his hand caress the boy's sharply planed silken cheek, draw him in for a kiss that was long and probing. Will, newly turned. Still the apple of his eye.

Will kept his hair long in those days, blonde by his own choice as he cast off the remnants of his miserable humanity and all that reminded him of what he had been before the Gift. Angelus had loved the long flaxen curls, twining his hands in them to keep the boy still while he did things to him: caressing his bared neck with a slowly sliding tongue before biting deeply to drink of the shared blood; holding his head as his cock plundered those pink and perfect lips.

Or other times, that hair fisted in his hand, pulling the boy back against his chest, feeling him quiver in pleasurepain as his cock is caressed in rhythm to the driving stokes into his still-virginal-tightness. Angelus had slicked the way with is own pre-cum, rubbing the head of his hard length over the puckered opening while the boy had moaned and waited for the entry he both desired and feared. Had slipped in slowly, stretching the boy with unusual care, wanting him to enjoy the act and see it as the reward that it was.

He'd pushed into him so exquisitely that his entire cock was seated in the boy and Will had been panting with desire. That was when Angelus had reached down into the luxurious locks, gently at first but with a measured twist of his wrist to wrap moonlit waves in a closed hand and pull him back, back, head to his shoulder. He'd dropped a kiss on the lovely plane of the boy's cheek, slipping his tongue over the curve of his ear to hear him moan. Sooty black lashes lay like shadows on the pale skin, covering eyes he knew would be dark as sapphires with lust and pleasure. Will's mouth was open in the throes of his passion, and when Angelus began to rub the boy's hard and straining cock, he watched as he bit down on his own bottom lip to mask the cries that slipped from him.

"Don't hide your pleasure, Will," Angelus breathed into the ear he had wet with his mouth moments ago. "Let me hear how you need it."

The words themselves had wrenched another sound of pleasure from the boy and Angelus grinned his approval. Strokes increased their pace, both of hip and hand, and then Will was pierced again, daggerlike fangs at his throat that added to his sweet torture. Soon they were both voicing their release in a duet of slowly decreasing volume. Angelus had continued to hold his Childe close, droplet of crimson rolling down Will's shoulder, trickle of pearlescence marking his thighs and belly. Smiles on the faces of both men, of pride and acceptance, of intimacy and newly forged bonds.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Abruptly the ice bucket hits the floor as Angel raises a hand to his face. So much gone in the haze of guilt and hatred he has for himself, and never once has he allowed himself to remember the finer parts. The soul he has regained demands he forget the intimacy and the pleasure and the companionship. The release. The fulfillment.

So he picks up the bucket, scooping spilled ice back into it. Sets it on the desk and then seats the bottle of blood in it, turning it as if he were placing champagne there to cool for his lover. And he waits for the blood to cool, too. He denies himself even the small comfort of taking it warm.

Later when he drinks it, he'll look at the crimson clinging to the sides of the glass and forget how it looked sliding down the marble of Will's neck.

Someday, he'll forget it all.

~end.


End file.
